But there is no denying Norway is stunning. Carly’s slack-jawed expression as we trudge slowly up the mountain agrees. Everything here is in extremes: the flat, sparkling waters of the fjord slowly shrinking below us, the near-vertical angle of the mountains, the intense clarity of the air. It’s a feast for the senses, and gods know I’m all about a feast.
The beast is alert. After all, we are nearing the gateway to the realms. There is no road home for us here, that is long gone, but the echo of it remains even after several millennia.
These worlds were formed by our hand, however indirectly. Odin likes to claim credit for that, but he’d never have been a god at all if it weren’t for my people.
They realized they’d made a mistake when he tried to upset the balance we insisted on and started a war. In the end, they left rather than see it all destroyed. Only I stayed behind, the faithful watchdog, not that it was an entirely selfless move.
Besides the fact that I like it here, being left behind ensures that I can gorge for eternity. What I didn’t expect was that Odin would prove so wily, that he would take pains to trap me. That he would create the Fetters. That I would lose the Eitr.
With a frown, I help Carly skirt a fallen tree. She’s gasping and I force her to sit so she can catch her breath. Her cheeks are pink and rosy and she looks utterly beautiful.
“It’s gorgeous here. I can see why the gods like it.”
“They like it because it looks like Asgaard,” I counter. “It was Odin’s blueprint when he created the other eight realms.”
She takes a drink of water from the bottle I press into her hands.
“He couldn’t have done it without the Eitr, though.”
I frown, taking the bottle from her. “What do you know about that?” The legend has faded into obscurity over the years, partially by my design. The less is known about the Eitr or its whereabouts, the better. It’s been lost for so long now. I heard a rumor about it a hundred years or so ago, but when I investigated, it turned out to be just that. A rumor.
“I know it’s called the god-maker.” She cocks her head. “Though I don’t get why. Odin was already a god when he used it, wasn’t he?”
More like a plaything, I think to myself. An amusing toy indulged far too often. But that wasn’t my mistake. “Hard to be a god,” I say, “until there are worlds and people to call you such.”
“Hmmm, I suppose.” She gets to her feet and takes my arm.
We clamber up the last rocks, and there it is.
Trolltunga. A flattish wedge of rock poking into the bright-blue sky. The Troll’s tongue. I suppose to a fanciful mind it might look like a grey tongue sticking out of the mountain. To me, it’s looks exactly like what it is, a bridge.
“Wow,” Carly breathes.
“Are you sure your passage is taken care of?”
The bridge doesn’t just open for anyone, even FTCs. You must be expected. She nods. Her cheeks are pink, still flushed from the hike. The back of my neck prickles as I force myself to let her go.
“Okay. I’ll be—”
Suddenly her hand is sliding up my arm, her other fisted in my hair as she pulls me down for a kiss.
I can taste her fear, just the tiniest fraction under steely determination. Damn Oriane and her convoluted demands on her daughters. I can still stop this.
Maybe I should.
But when she looks at me, I can’t. I know just how much Carly needs to be trusted, how much she needs to be seen as capable, to prove herself, if only to herself.
I have seen her soul.
Our relationship has already been strained by my secrets. I have to give her this. I intended to go with her, secure that my new guise would hold and is unknown in Asgaard. But Cyril’s knowledge of my true self has made me leery.
I endangered her once with my presence. I won’t do so again.
I let go of her reluctantly. “In and out, right?”
She nods. “Yes. Just dropping something off. I’ll be back before dark.” She cups my jaw in her hand, then her fingers fall. “Bye-b—”
“Don’t say that.” Sudden irrational fear adds bite to my words. She looks startled. I force a smile. “See you soon is better.”
She smiles. “Okay. See you soon.” Her hand reaches for the spellwork in her pocket, and for some reason, she pulls her bottle of perfume from the other. I frown as she activates Jett’s spellwork and disappears from sight.
“Sýnnúne,” I whisper. The word feels alien on my tongue, even though it’s my own language. Reveal is a rough translation. From the language of creation, it strips magic from an object, giving me its true form. In this case, that means I can see Carly, invisible as she is now to other eyes.
She looks back over her shoulder as she takes a step onto what would appear to anyone else like thin air, but I can see the ghost of the completed bridge in Asgaard stretching out to meet her. I’m not sure whether to feel relief or disappointment that she was right about her passage being expected.
The perfume bottle winks in the sunlight as she walks into Odin’s realm. Its shape seems different somehow. My eyes narrow and I catch a flash of a symbol as she goes through the gate.
The creation rune. It’s one FTCs mistakenly think of as Odin’s, but it was ancient before he appropriated it.
The Eitr.
I leap to follow her but it’s too late. I slam against the barrier, falling to my knees on the tip of Trolltunga, causing several tourists to scream. The sound echoes down the valley as I stare blankly into the sky.
Carly’s in Asgaard, all alone, holding Odin’s dearest wish in her hands.
14
I hold the bottle aloft as I cross the threshold, just like my mother told me to. She said it would serve as my calling card.
Styx’s eyes widen just before I step off the cliff. For a second I think I hear him say something, but then he’s gone. Earth is gone.
Did Styx say the gods loved Norway because it looked like Asgaard? This place looks like nothing I’ve ever seen or dreamed. It sparkles.
I thought the air in Norway was clear. Here it gleams like crystal, fracturing the light into rainbows. There are so many colors and half of them I don’t have a name for. I’m spinning slowly in place when a soft cough brings me out of my bedazzled state.
A man is standing just off the bridge, on a street that looks as if it is paved in silver. He’s tall, lean and handsome. He also looks a bit like his brother, though I’m quite sure neither of them would appreciate the comparison.
I’ve never seen him before, but even if it weren’t for his resemblance to Jack Frost, his eyes would give him away. Bright and blue and endlessly shifting. “Hello, Loki.”
He bows mockingly. “I see my reputation precedes me. Forgive me, but I have a hard time keeping you witches straight. What do they call you?”
“Carly.”
“Ah, yes. Carlisle Grace. Named for two singers, I believe.”
I stare at him in shock. He’s right. Mom had a thing for naming her daughters after her favorite singers. Mom is obsessed with seventies and eighties rock. Only Anastasia escaped entirely, as Mom hadn’t discovered time travel yet when Ana was born. Even Persephone got stuck with Nancy as a middle name—for Nancy Wilson—but I got the real double whammy.
“How do you know that?”
Ignoring the question, he offers his arm, which I take reluctantly. “I’m surprised you came alone. No companions?” His tone is sly, but I remember Styx’s warning and smile.
“Just me. It’s only a delivery, after all. In fact—” I hesitate as something occurs to me, a way to get out of here and back to Styx faster. Asgaard may be pretty, but it also makes me feel odd . . . like I don’t belong.
Besides, Mom only said I had to get the Eitr to Asgaard, not that I had to hand deliver it to Odin. “Maybe you could take it to Odin for me.”
Loki looks at the bottle in my outstretched palm and something dark flashes over his face. For a moment, I swear he’s in p
ain and I squeeze his arm instinctively. “Are you okay?” No reaction. I resort to shaking him, hard. “Loki. What’s wrong?”
He finally blinks, those chaotic eyes focusing on a point well above my head as we come to a stop. “No. Don’t give it to me.”
I finally notice we are already at the palace. Spires soar in the pink and gold clouds above us, stars clearly visible even though it’s midday bright. He lifts a hand, causing huge ivory gates to slide upward so swiftly the carvings on them seem to move and twist, fairy-tale creatures of every sort cavorting madly as they disappear into the sky.
Then the doors are gone and a hall opens before us.
“Wow,” I mutter again.
Loki gives me a long-suffering look. “We don’t have flies in Asgaard, witch, but do try to close your mouth anyway. The awestruck thing might soothe Odin’s ego, but it will make you look weak.” His smile is cold. “You don’t want to look weak in front of Odin.”
With a shiver I precede him into the hall.
The All-Father doesn’t look like I pictured him. Then again, what do I know about fathers, really?
Like the rest of his race, he’s handsome. I kind of expected something along the lines of an older, stouter, less gorgeous Styx, maybe with Viking braids in his hair and beard.
Odin has no beard. He’s smooth-shaven and his dark-brown hair is cut short, just long enough to show a hint of a wave. His eyes are also a surprise. Both of them. Odin gave up one eye for knowledge, or so the story goes.
So one of those orbs must be glass, but it’s hard to tell which from here. Their color is not Loki’s madly intense blue or Jack’s icy green or Freya’s stone grey, but a sedate hazel that watches me approach the throne without blinking.
“I hear you have something for me, witch.”
His voice is more like I imagined, a deep, sonorous boom worthy of a god. I’m getting tired of being addressed as ‘witch,’ but maybe it’s best if Odin isn’t real familiar with my name. Something about him makes me feel out of sorts, like a cat rubbed the wrong way.
I ignore the odd feeling, resisting the urge to scowl as I step forward. “I do. My mother wanted you to have this.” I hold the Eitr between two fingers. Those hazel eyes seem to gleam.
“Bring it closer.”
I take a step forward. I’m hesitant and awkward. I didn’t grow up at court like Ana or get the proper training for this sort of thing like Jett. Growing up in 1940s Hollywood doesn’t exactly prepare you for the high court of Asgaard, but it does give you a pretty great bullshit detector. Odin’s calm demeanor is an act, and not a particularly skilled one. He wants this bottle desperately.
Why?
Why did my mother send me here with the Eitr? She obviously worked hard to hide it from him for a long, long time.
Why now?
And why me? I thought it was because I can protect myself here better than anyone. I also thought that Mom was showing me she trusted me at last.
Now I’m not so sure.
Too late, the questions swirl and smoke in my head. Faith has always served me well where my mother is concerned, but with every step I take closer to Odin, my instincts scream louder at me to run away—that this bottle does not belong in this man’s hands.
The back of my neck prickles. Reluctantly, I take one more step. Then another. Odin stretches out his hand.
Bells peel overhead, so loudly and unexpectedly I stumble on the dais. Then I’m yanked backward like there’s an invisible hook in my navel. Startled into yelping, I look behind me and gasp. Styx is here, his Fenrir form shimmering in and out for a horrible second before he solidifies into a man.
The bells fall silent as I fly though the air and land in a pair of very hard arms.
“Oofta,” I grunt, my face smashed against his chest.
The ensuing silence stretches like a piano wire until Loki breaks it.
“The beast has returned, my lord,” he says unnecessarily, a strange gleam in his eyes.
“I can see that,” Odin intones. His eyes rake Styx from head to heels. “A pretty disguise, Fenrir.”
Styx’s hold on me tightens. My innate magic sputters reluctantly but enough to jolt him into easing his grip a fraction.
“Let the witch give me the Eitr and you can go, Fenrir.”
“The Eitr does not belong to you.”
I give him a startled look, my fingers tightening on the bottle in my hand. I knew it.
“It was stolen from me.” Odin’s voice thunders through the room, making my insides quiver.
Styx shakes his head. “Stolen? More like taken back by its rightful owners. We told you never again, Odin. And we meant it.” His last words ring through the chamber loud enough to make even Loki wince. “It’s enough we left you with the realms you have.”
Odin grits his teeth. “If I had the Fetters again . . .”
“But I hear the Fetters have been lost as well.” Styx tsks. “Seems thieving is a real issue in the realms. You might want to look into that, All-Father.” The title is spoken with such blatant disrespect that I cringe.
“Beware, Fenrir. You’re all alone these days.” Odin’s eyes flick to me. “With a particular weakness, it would seem.”
“Test me and see how weak I am,” Styx says in a low voice that raises the hair on the back of my arms.
“Oh I will,” Odin says softly, getting to his feet. “I’ll hunt you both until I get what I want. In fact,” his eyes turn to me and this time I catch the cold glint of the dead glass one, “perhaps I should start by eliminating the witches one by one. They’re not the most popular of my subjects as it is.”
“That’ll mean war,” I gasp.
“Yes, little witch. It will.” Odin’s gaze is merciless. “How does that sound, watching your friends and family die one by one? I’ve been there, you know. I lost my son because of the likes of him!”
Above me, Styx shakes his head. “You lost your son because of your own stubborn arrogance. And his. Must more lives be ended because of your obsession?”
Odin sneers. “Without me, the realms would be nothing but unrealized dreams. There’s only one life that matters here. Mine.”
Something quivers uneasily deep inside me. Odin’s obsessed, not right in the head. He’ll do it. He will start another war, targeting my family, my whole race for genocide. Loki glances at me, a smile curving his lips.
Maybe all the gods are crazy.
And maybe I finally know why Mother sent me here. She wanted me to see this because she knows I can stop him. Maybe I’m the only one who can.
For the first time in decades, the thought of using my power doesn’t frighten me. Like a switch being thrown, I know what I have to do. Styx isn’t the only thing I’ve been waiting for.
“That’s not true,” I say loud and clear, to get his attention. Odin faces me, his lip still curled.
“What isn’t?”
“Dreams or not, we matter. And these dreams can fight back.” I reach out, focusing my magic, the soul magic that doesn’t need words and, in my case, doesn’t need touch. It doesn’t matter that I’ve only done it once before, because just like then, it’s ridiculously easy now.
Odin’s soul is enormous, huge and pulsing. I watch his jaw go slack, that glass eye starting to smoke as he screams.
15
“Carly, stop.” Styx’s voice in my ear is quiet, commanding, but the shock in it is palpable. My concentration wavers. He spins around, cutting off my view of the dais. When I yank my gaze to him, his face is strained. “You can’t kill Odin.”
“I’m pretty sure I can, actually,” I say in a tight voice, fighting to get free, but Styx’s arms tighten. Ignoring my protests, he heads for the door. Odin is on his knees on the dais, still screaming, his hands over his eyes.
“The bridge is closed to you,” Loki says, making no move to detain us as he watches Odin with that slight smile on his face. “You can’t leave.”
“I don’t need your fucking bridge,” Styx mutter
s under his breath.
In the next blink, Asgaard disappears. Gone are the ivory towers, the silver streets and the rainbow air. Low, rolling hills flow to the horizon in a deep-purple cascade.
The sky is grey and shiny, like the underbelly of a spaceship. And there is no sun.
This is my mural, the mural Styx hated. Suddenly, it hits me. I painted the underworld. The dream I can’t remember took place here. Hel.
“How?” I look around. “How am I here? Cyril said no one living could come here.”
“Except with me.” He sets me down, his hands lingering on my upper arms, his eyes locked on mine. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
I shove away from him, still pissed. “I was thinking of saving everyone’s ass.”
“Carly, don’t you think if killing Odin were the answer, I would have done it ages ago?”
“It’s not?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he is the All-Father. Like it or not, Odin created these realms. Yes, we gave him the Eitr, but all these things, they came from his mind. Elementals, magic, they evolved and took on a life of their own, but he is the creator. To remove him from the equation . . .” He shakes his head. “It was deemed too risky.”
“Wait a minute, gave him the Eitr?”
“Yes.”
“Your people?”
He sighs. “Yes.”
“Why the hell did they do that?”
“I’ll explain, but first we need to get out of here. It’s not safe.”
I look around at the odd landscape with its metallic sheen and shrug irritably. “It doesn’t look so bad.” I turn back to him slowly. “But you don’t like it here much, do you?”
He blinks at me. “Why would you think that?”
“Your reaction to my mural, for one.”
“I don’t like the idea of you being here, no. But I’m sure you can understand that.” He raises an eyebrow.
Oh. I guess he has a point. “Let’s get out of here then.”
“Yes. Let’s. It’ll be faster if I carry you.”
He lifts me again and starts walking through the dark and eerily still grass. The silence of this place doesn’t encourage conversation, but I can’t help it. I have so many questions.
Magpies & Moonshine Page 8
